


Old Money

by kylorensgf



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Based on a Lana Del Rey Song, Blow Jobs, Bruises, Charlie also likes you in thigh highs, Charlie calls you petnames 24/7, Charlie is an asshole, Charlie is reincarnation of Humbert Humbert, Charlie is seriously so fucked up, Charlie likes fucking you in skirts, Cheating, Childhood Trauma, Choking, Collars, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Don't Like Don't Read, Drinking, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, Face Slapping, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Forced Masturbation, Gaslighting, Knifeplay, Lolita and Crucible References? What could go wrong!, Lollipops, Masturbation, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Public Sex, Reader is 18 but Charlie is 37, References to The Crucible - Miller, Sexual Content, Spanking, Spit Kink, Summer Love, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Throat Fucking, Title from a Lana Del Rey Song, Unhealthy Relationships, lolita references, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylorensgf/pseuds/kylorensgf
Summary: You'd never forget that summer. You were a wild child and naive, and the world was filled with endless possibilities. There were memories of it that'd cause a whirlwind emotions to yourself.It was all so volatile and tempestuous. Yet, you would never forget him, and the way he made you see everything beyond the horizon in a new perspective.You were his flower, and regardless of how he ripped you apart, you'd still blossom for him.
Relationships: Charlie Barber & You, Charlie Barber/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Old Money

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags and understand what you are getting yourself in it. I will put trigger warnings beforehand for chapters that have elements of abuse. If you cannot handle this book or need to take a break from it, I completely understand. I have psychoanalyzed Charlie's character, and I plan on NOT changing him one bit -- he is an asshole, indeed. 
> 
> The first chapter starts off with the reader talking to her therapist, and why she is not resting well and having mental issues. The reader begins to tell her therapist why, so the story is basically told in a narrative perspective (if that makes sense? Think of beginning of The Great Gatsby and how Nick Carraway is telling it).
> 
> This fic is indeed based off Lana Del Rey's song, Old Money -- like straight up.
> 
> Mkay, enjoy.

The rain poured in city of Queens. It tapped against the window and got louder every passing minute. It didn't irritate you. You found tranquility in it.

You looked outside that same window, your forehead pressing onto it. "You're zoning out again," your therapist, Amelia, pointed out and you hummed coldly. "We only have an hour left for this session."

You didn't say anything, blink, or felt yourself breathing. Your eyes panned down to your wrist, that was bruised and printed with _his_ hand.

It was a dark shade of purple and red. The color mixed in the beauty of violence.

"Have the nightmares gone away yet? Are you taking the medication I prescribed to you?" Amelia asked, but by the looks of the bags underneath your eyes, it was a solid _no_. "You're still thinking of him again, aren't you?"

You never told her who that _him_ could be. If the name trailed off your mouth, you'd tremble and shattered into unfixable glass. Hearing or speaking his name was _forbidden_ in your state of mind.

But you knew none of the reoccurring memories or emotions that numbed you, would go away if you kept holding it all in.

Holding onto _him._

There was no certain emotion that could be placed on the evocation of _that_ summer. You dwelled on it, every night and every day. Every fragment and little parts of it, wounded you and there was no way to heal it.

With the open wound, you would bleed out for eternity.

"His name was Charlie," you muttered faintly. "Charlie Barber."

Amelia wrote the name on her yellow notepad. She was getting somewhere with you.

She smiled. "Tell me all about it."

You were a new student at summer theatre, Angeles Auditorium, where people all over the world would attend to better themselves as actors, directors, or do a playwright. It made many dreams come true.

You had moved away from home, and wanted to start a new life for yourself. As cliché and normal that sounded, it was the right and only option for you.

You had only graduated from high school only a month ago, and being new to Los Angeles, you didn't know many people. You had a distant cousin who lived in the city, but you rarely knew of her.

It was _9AM_ , as your clock struck you awake and you groaned angrily, shutting it off. You threw your pillow over your head and pouted, wondering if you wanted to be a _little_ late just to get more sleep.

You pushed off your blankets, throwing the pillow to the ground, and lazily got up, feeling your head pound.

"Fucking iron deficiency," you mumbled, your feet stepping onto the slight mess that laid on your floor. "Hell, I have to clean this later."

Your feet lurched you into your bathroom, where dirty clothes were scattered in a corner and empty bottles of alcohol were laying on top of them. "Shit, maybe I should really clean all this."

The night you left your parents home, after their bashing and degrading, you ran straight to Angeles. They wanted a daughter who had possible dreams — doctor, lawyer, make the first flying car or some imaginary _shit_ like that.

You told them you'd rather hang yourself than do something that made you would hate forever and would go into incredible debt for.

The only way you were affording your apartment and the theatre was through a trust fund your grandparents had set up for you, and you had all able access to it the second you graduated. You got more money than you expected, and it was enough to cover rent for a year.

You did your hygienic routine, knowing you could hold off food until the afternoon. You had a solid hour to get there, and it was only a three block walk from your complex.

After the fleeting ten minutes of brushing your teeth and hair, then hastily applying deodorant, you had remembered you were going to be busy after you were finished your first day at the theatre.

You knew being a tutor for a child wouldn't be a challenge, especially when they only needed help in reading.

Though you did have money to keep you steady and balanced for a solid year, you wanted at least a job. Babysitting and nanny applications were all filled throughout Los Angeles, with that idea being kicked out the door for you.

You had found a father needing a tutor for his son on a website where desperate workers would apply to any job that paid a lot. The tutoring job would pay you a solid twenty bucks an hour.

Your hands ravaged through your closet for an exceptional outfit, and with the sun blistering every skin, you'd have to go with a dress.

Your eyes selected on a peach-checkered dress that flowed breezily and only stopped at the midst of your thighs. It suited you comfortably, as you slipped it on and checked yourself out in the mirror.

You hummed in acceptation of it, your feet padding on the wood tiles of your bedroom, and slipped on a pair of white platformed combat boots.

You grabbed your backpack, stuffing a cardigan into it, your floral-printed pencil bag, and a few other necessities. You didn't want to overdo it nor make your backpack heavy.

As you sprayed perfume onto yourself, you put on a heart locket necklace, before making your way out of your bedroom door with your backpack straps hanging over your shoulders.

Your hand snatched for your apartment keys from the top of counter, and stepped out of your apartment.

The walk wasn't far nor exhausting. Though the sun burned your skin and the sun felt like a scorching branding stick, you lived through it.

You kept to yourself as walked the streets of Los Angeles, passing small clothing stores or cafes. You were excited for the weekend to come, so you'd at least get some grocery shopping in and buy new furniture.

You at least wanted a fake plant or two.

You hummed softly to yourself, as music in your headphones blared and kept you occupied.

Making a sharp turn, your eyes landed on an arena-sized building. You were sure it was bigger than Juilliard itself.

Smiling in content and admiring the structure, you took your way of hustling inside the building. 

You checked the time on your phone, that labeled itself _9:38AM._ You had made it on time.

You opened up the theatre's one of many doors, and saw millions of people scattered inside. There was a reception desk at the back of the lobby and you hesitantly made your way over to it. 

The woman looked up to you, a gentle smile laying on her face. "Hello, honey. How may I help you?" She asked, looking back at her few papers and a pen was held stiff in her hand.

"Um, I'm new to this, so can you help me out here. Why are there a lot of people?" You wondered, gesturing your chin to the beings that stood around in the lobby and chattered. "Where do I start?"

The woman chuckled. "There's an individual group for each director that is here. There's groups one through ten, and there are about twenty people each in that circle. There is a sheet right over there in the right corner, and then come back to get your numbered sticker."

You looked over your shoulder to see that bulletin point board that had sticked-in papers all over it. You thanked her, roaming your direction to it, and within a few more steps, you were looking at it.

Your eyes ran over every name in each of the groups, pointing to your labeled first name. You were in group seven, with a director in the name of _Charlie Barber_.

"Charlie Barber? Doesn't sound too bad. May be an old man," you muttered, feeling a heavy blanket come off your shoulders. You took yourself back to the reception desk, the woman smiling the second she saw you.

"Group and name of director?" She asked, her smalls hands fiddling for a sheet of name stickers. 

"Group seven, with director Charlie Barber," you answered, and she chuckled, her cheeks becoming flushed. "What is it?"

"Nothing, dear. Mr. Barber is just a very highly respected and attractive man within the theatre and film industry," she admitted, handing you your stick which you took gently. "He is a newly divorced man."

" _Divorced_?" You repeated.

She nodded. "I've heard a few murmurs but word has it he cheated on his wife with a worker of theirs."

Your eyes widen, nodding slowly. She really knew her gossip. "Well, thank you so much," you said, placing the name tag over your left breast. You sat down in a chair, distancing yourself away from people.

You hated any new interaction and it'd take you a while to actually get comfort to a different crowd.

Ten minutes had passed, your body shivering from the cold air conditioning coming into the building.

"Attention, everyone! Directors are now ready for their groups! Go down the hall and find the door with your labeled number!" The woman shouted, and everyone cheered, some even clapping.

Seemed they had been waiting a while.

You got up and your eyes scanned past every door number, slowly approaching the door that was titled ' _C. Barber — #7_ ' as bile perched itself at the brim of your throat.

The door had been opened by the few others before you, and you were the many of few to enter in lastly.

The theatre room was the size of Disney's Hall and your breath was taken back from it. There was no sign of the director and students were beginning to seat themselves in the fourth or third row in front of the stage.

You didn't know where to sit, your emotions and thought scattered everywhere. You sat down in the second row, laying your backpack on your lap, and sighed faintly.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" A voice asked, as your head snapped into the direction of it. It was a guy, who seemed to be about in his early twenties, his hair mildly messy and brightened in light brown. His eyes were a flat color of brown and they speculated your own.

You shook your head. "Go ahead. I don't mind."

He smiled, and took his seat. "I'm Lucas," he introduced yourself, sticking out his hand as you willingly took it and did the same. "Perfect name for you. It's quite suitable."

"Thank you. I could say the same for you, but you remind me more of a Peter," you joked and he laughed, nodding. "Where is this director at?"

"Charlie Barber? He is sometimes late, it's just in his routine," Lucas said, taking a sip out of his water bottle. You hummed and a loud pair of clapping hands came from the backstage of the stage.

That must have been the director himself.

You were expecting an old man — but saw someone different and captivating.

He walked his own pace onto the middle of the stage, his eyes focused upon everyone, and hands clasped behind his back, straightening his posture.

This man was beautiful. Your mouth was agape, trying to register every fragment, piece, and feature of him. Your heart stuttered and your eyes begged to not be pulled away from him.

This was Charlie Barber.

"Good morning, everyone! I am your director for the next two months," Charlie started off, and his voice was luring rough and groggy, as if he had just woken up too. "Now we aren't starting rehearsals or anything today. I want to individually get to know you better and how well you will do in my line of theatre."

A girl raised her hand, and Charlie pointed his pen at her in a gesture for her to speak. You peeked over your shoulder at her, and she purposely lifted up her skirt a little more.

 _Oh great_ , you thought to yourself.

She was a pretty girl and shouldn't have to trade her body to get a lead role or Charlie's full-time approval.

It saddened you.

"What is the play we are doing?" That same girl asked, and Charlie smiled, laughing at how others were eager to know. "Or are we doing your own written play?"

Charlie hummed. "That's a good question. But I won't share it until tomorrow. I have a feeling everyone will love it."

People whispered to each other, and your eyes fixated onto Charlie's presence. His eyes slowly drifted into yours, and within uncountable seconds, you both were falling into each other's existence.

The side of his mouth slowly curled into a grin, almost a low smirk. His eyes took away from yours, and wandered over your outfit, his hands slipping into his pockets as he did so.

He found you so pure, beautiful and innocent — like a flower.

"We are starting formal introduction as of right now!" Charlie announced, never taking his attention away from you. You had all of it, as you enthralled him entirely. "I'll save you for last."

He said that so breathlessly, like if it was a normal response to tell a person. You swallowed thickly, watching him walk off stage and to the desk that stood at back of all the seating chairs, where the directors looked at their performers and whatnot.

"Charlie Barber seems to like you already," Lucas complimented, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "Don't become short of teacher's pet."

"I feel like you have a different meaning behind that phrase than what it actually means," you speculated, and Lucas raised his hands in defense, humming gently. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and laid it on your lap.

With a new profile contact waiting for your information.

"You could be psychopath!" You exclaimed and he laughed, nodding in agreement.

He smiled widely. "There's always that possibility!"

"I will do it, but please do not end spamming my phone," you said, your hands picking up the phone and typed in all of your information.

You gave it back to him, and as you did, your body shivered abruptly. You felt like you were being watched, as you turned around and stared at the director's desk.

Charlie kept looking at you, trying to keep his focus on the other student in front of him. Your eyebrows drew together in thought, your eyes moving out of his, and looked back at Lucas.

"I think Mr. Barber does fancy you," Lucas teased, and you elbowed his arm, groaning. "I'm just saying! But I'd be weird since he is much older."

You blinked. "He only looks twenty eight years old."

Lucas bursted into a fit of laughter, his smile never faltering. "He barely got divorced, has a kid, and is actually thirty seven years old, so!"

"He has a fucking kid?!" You exclaimed, and Lucas slapped a hand over your mouth to quiet you. You almost spat onto it.

He slowly removed it, and frowned. "Apparently, he only stays here in Los Angeles because of his kid. He is barely trying to get over now ex-wife, but yeah."

"How do you know this?" You asked, opening up your backpack for your cardigan. "Also, what play do you think we are doing?"

"I don't know. Maybe something that is more for Charlie's taste," Lucas responded, and you slipped on your cardigan, sighing contently. "Adorable outfit, by the way. Radiates some type of chic style."

"Now your ass is being sarcastic," you pointed out, and he chuckled amusingly about it. "I hope we do The Crucible. I have always wanted to do that play."

Lucas hummed, smiling small. "My high school performed that play. It was really good and gave the drama department a lot of attention."

You heard distant giggles and laughter in the background, sounding as if it was projected noises from a schoolgirl.

"And also, that's Emily," Lucas said, noticing how your scrutiny was on the female. You and him both gyrated, eyes peeking at how Emily visibly flirted with Charlie.

Emily was a muse. Her hair was black, her skin being a pale white color, and she made her breasts pop out enough to gain Charlie's attention. Her lips were coated with a red lipstick that suited her perfectly. She wore a tight white shirt with a grey pleated tennis skirt.

"Nymph," Lucas whispered, and you smacked her arm. He groaned in response, pouting at the pain. "Like seriously, look at her. Pack it up, Dolores."

"Are you seriously trying to compare Lolita to this? That book was vile and Humbert is a pervert," you explained, recalling of how sick you felt after reading the book _and_ watching the film. "Charlie isn't a Humbert."

You and Lucas continued to observe, as Charlie's cheeks were coated with a tint of pink. He was blushing and didn't mind who was watching.

Minutes passed and Charlie finished up with Emily. They separated their ways, and attention was pulled away from the scene.

Then, your name was shouted by him.

"Good luck," Lucas whispered and you thanked him, getting up from your seat. You carefully walked to him, head hung down, and could feel the eyes of Emily boring into you.

It was quite an uneasy feeling.

You smiled the second you approached Charlie, taking a seat in the chair in front of him.

You introduced yourself, sticking your hand out for his. Charlie smiled widely, and took it, greeting you gently.

"You have such a wonderful name," Charlie complimented and you chuckled, thanking him. "So, tell me a little of yourself."

"Well, as normal as this sounds, I have always had a passion for acting. I find it beautiful and entertaining. There is just so much emotions and language to it."

"From how earnest and wholehearted you sound, I believe acting is for you. If you could choose to do one play here, what would it be?" Charlie wondered, taking notes on his notepad and bit his lip in thought.

You tried not to stammer on your words when you noticed that and your breath became hallow in your throat.

He was fairly charming and beauteous.

The littlest movements of his ensnared you, like a naive, thoughtless prey who was captured by her dominant predator.

You sighed. "The Crucible. It's fantastic and incredible."

He hummed, and grinned at how you gave off salient views of exhilaration and gaiety. "Well, you are perfect for this theatre. You are fresh here, aren't you?"

You nodded. "Yes. The only city I am familiar with is New York."

"Ah, I lived there before I came here. It's quite wonderful. Did you attend school in the city?" He asked, curiosity overlaying on his face. His jaw tightened and clenched, hands resting on his lap, as his bottom lip curled in between his teeth.

You cleared your throat to prevent any stammering. "Um, no. I visited it various times for either family or because I wanted to always check out Juilliard."

Charlie smiled. "Juilliard would've been perfect for you. A shiny and enthusiastic face like yours is what they need, but I would've love to put you in one of my plays."

You blushed, feeling the ball in the base of your throat hardening as you watched him and listened to him.

You kept thinking the rest of your sentence would emerge from the air passing through your vocal cords, but nothing ever did. You were too flustered and overwhelmed by his light compliment.

"Well, thank you so much. I just am ready to get to know this city better, and I already have a job, so," you added on and Charlie awed, nodding in agreement.

He gazed at you. "Well, I look forward to working with you and building you up as an actress."

You chuckled, sitting up from your chair as he did the same. He shook your hand once more, yet more firmly and comfortably.

You smiled. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Charlie Barber."

"The pleasure is mine."


End file.
